The Ball and Pitch

O, Jackdaw why's the door not closed?

With each gone June there's one preposed

You breathe a life like a red, red rose

We both run doors and stand unclothed

You roost on euphoria and I can make a story up

You're living on the green by the knocked down Astoria

You've flown the stage in phantasmagoria

With each brick down you held a memorial

When I was seven, my daddy went to heaven

He was slain on the steps by the multicoloured felons

He lived by the show and died with a cello

The stage is changed maybe blackened, maybe reddened 

The hymns wont lift and rise to the patch

When came the bound they'd met their match

They left the keys and swallowed the latch

Wrecking ball thrown, though no-one to catch

He was charismatic, living in the attic

A deed undone was everly traumatic

When the crypt lead on, to lining fanatics

He rolled on the face like melodramatic

Heavy the line that rolls down his spine

There weeps the steps over eras of time

Which flag is flying and which bell to chime

He once was a church and now he's a shrine